There are stories happen unexpectedly and leave wide-opened endings. Many other stories happen as if they are arranged in order, but the ends seem to take quite another surprising turns. I have gone passed so many stories like that, be that happy, sad, lonely, or longing for something. I have gone through many lives of individuals, recording their stories and walking away as a passerby. In my everlasting journey, sometimes I meet the ones that I met before, but sometimes I do not. These people, some have written good endings for their stories, but stills there are others almost never finished.

I have been everywhere in these human's lives, be that in the past, the present or the future. I do not know how long it has been, but I do know that I have done this work for so, so long as if it has become a part of my life. What is the meaning of this job, why do I have to do this, why it has to be me? I have no answers to these questions, and neither one can answer them for me, for I have been alone all I know. I have no instructions what I should do, or neither I have people to share what I did. I tried to escape, but things happen as it is a rule of nature, too natural to the point I have to accept all of them...

My job is to record and to tell the stories. Nevertheless, it is not merely "taking notes" and "recount." I will not speak with you about the spectacular history nor the great legend. I will tell you the man's lives and their wishes. I am a storyteller.

I had to think about a lot of things before writing these lines because this is the first time I feel I have deviated from my missions and destiny. I used to be so confident, believing that I would not ever change. I would keep quiet and isolate myself until I become invisible to the people surrounding me. But a man appeared. Little by little, he crawled into my life and instilled me the values, the emotions of what humankind call "love." I was panicked when I discovered my changes days by days. Is it because the person made me changed, or is it because the unbearable flame in me, smoldering from the early days has not caught off?

I do not know since when I have wondered so much, but I just feel this is something that my heart desires. I remember, that person once told me that man was an unusual creature. When they are happy, they will not appreciate their happiness. When they are miserable, they will never give up. While giving them freedom, they constrain themselves in the rules they put out. While being oppressed, they will not stop fighting for their independence. That is how a man lives; he never stays in silence. Perhaps, I too am fighting for myself in the same way?

Not that I am sure I can call myself a "human."

What I will write here is the result of a struggle of own thoughts, about whether I should write or I should shut up and bury all those things under the dust of time. Maybe, I think the wheel of my destiny began to go astray on an autumn day in October. On that day, It all started with a tales about a princess and a brooch hairpin. On that day, I met the person, who many years later, always messed up my quiet life.